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March 31, 2005

Oh my GOD, it's Dog Blog. You may die from too much joy now. (Not the old band Too Much Joy, I should say, but you know, the experience of having too much joy or delight, possibly enough to cause cardiac arrest or something.)

A quick note about waiting around for your foreign car's super-special wheel replacement to arrive from God knows where: driving on a spare sucks so fucking bad. Oh man. Although I think the super-elderly really bonded with me on I-90 yesterday. I attracted a whole line of blue hairs, also going 45 mph, all in Caddys, trailing behind me like I was the Pied Piper of the Capital District. I think we really shared some special moments when all those balding fucks in low-end BMWs blew by us screaming obscenities and throwing cigars out the window. But, always trying to subvert the stereotypes, I made sure to roll with some Public Enemy blaring and all my windows down, and I am optimistic that the oldsters in my caravan have a new appreciation for Chuck D.

March 29, 2005

Uhm, was someone looking for a definition for hypocracy? Why yes, I think Tom DeLay was!

Additionally, on the Schiavo tip: every word of Erin's post yesterday rocks my socks off. So totally. Earthquakes = BORING! Especially when compared to a white woman whose cerebral cortex has been liquified for going on two decades!

(Also, and this is mildly related in that I think the whole Schiavo thing is so reflective of the bankrupt values of cable teevee news, I really did not enjoy seeing David Gregory as the substitute host of "Hardball" last night. I mean, you know, because "Hardball" is about punditry, however inept and frustrating that can be, whereas Gregory is a journalist-journalist, in my mind. Am I being arbitrary? Yeah, probably, but still I am irritated.)

March 28, 2005

I have a sneaking suspicion that commercial radio is trying to make friends with me. Today in the car I heard, in alphabetic order: Arcade Fire, Aretha, The Beatles, David Bowie, Cake, The Clash, Cornershop, Creedence, The Cure, Dresden Dolls, Folk Implosion, Hole, Interpol, New Order, The Pixies, R.E.M., The Ronettes, Scissors Sisters, The Shins, The Smiths and The Supremes. Gorgeous. Commercial radio, we are flirting now! In fact, I am not wearing any underwear!

Speaking of underwear, and with the full understanding that the following clause has nothing whatsoever to do with underwear, I hope that everyone had a nice Easter, if that is your thing. Mine was, as any holiday spent with my in-laws Kafkaesque. Happily no human blood was smeared on any food I was expected to consume (long story, but this seriously did happen), so there's something to be said for it, I suppose.

March 24, 2005

Pink House transcripts.

S: Oh man, I fucking hate reggae!
D: You would have to be a monster to hate reggae.
S: Well, I guess I am a monster. Hunt me down with torches and pitchforks, because I am not listening to any fucking Peter Tosh!
D: Hating reggae is like...like...like hating Golden Books!
S: What?
D: Uh, like, "The Poky Little Puppy"?
S: I have to tell you, this is not tracking for me, man.

March 23, 2005

Work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work knit.

March 21, 2005

I have to tell you, I spent a good deal of the yesterday yelling about Schiavo case. In between, I kept grabbing Mr. Pink and shaking him, whispering, "You know, you have to pull the plug for me, right? You'll pull the plug? Promise me!" But apparently, Congress makes the decisions now. Uhm, I thought conservatives disliked federalism. Except when they don't, of course.

Of course, Mr. Pink has found a compromise point: if Republicans in Congress don't think there's any difference between being a fully-functional person and being a person in a persistent vegetative state for 15 years, he has personally (and very generously, I think) offered to beat those same Republicans with a bat until they reach the same level of brain damage of Ms. Schiavo. I mean, you know, since it doesn't matter to them what kind of brain function a person has, clearly they wouldn't mind. We're all God's creatures, right, Mr. Santorum?

March 18, 2005

Uh, I just saw something on the news about a snowstorm next week. Am I the only one who respects the concept of Spring anymore? Fucking A!

Yesterday I had to explain to my mom that when I email her a link to a website, she has to, you know, click on the link or cut and paste it in order to see what I am referring to. I walked her through it on the phone, for real. I love this.

Other: glad that Michiko Kakutani liked the new Ian McEwan because I had been thinking I might read it when I'm done with Rebels on the Backlot (which is really good so far, BTW); I'd like to go see a movie this weekend, but can't find anything I'm dying to see; I restarted Clapotis with some yarn I liked better, and am in looooove with both the pattern (again) and the yarn (Great Adirondack Yarn Co.'s Sierra, 100% alpaca, swoon!).